


And Again

by Birdbitch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdbitch/pseuds/Birdbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been a few years since the first time they’ve met and they are different people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Again

It has been several years since they’ve met and when Enjolras finally sees Grantaire again, he’s in the middle of giving a kind of speech. He notices Grantaire in the back of the room—sullen and tired and noticeably different—and his words start to falter. He shakes his head, blinks a few times (there have been moments where he though he saw the man, but realized it was someone else, and he’s afraid, now, that this might be a mirage as well) before letting his voice die in his throat. It takes a moment and he’s not entirely sure what it was he was saying anymore, so he shakes his head again and smiles at the rapt faces staring up at him.

“I’m sorry, I suddenly don’t feel well,” he says, and there’s concern from his audience but he excuses himself and claps Combeferre on the shoulder, asking him to pick up from where he’s left off. And Enjolras, like this, escapes their eyes and makes his way relatively unnoticed towards the back of the cafe, where he sits down across from Grantaire and looks at him with a furrowed brow and downturned mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that. It would be terrible for your face to get stuck—”

“You’re here,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire sighs.

“Of course. I usually am.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t know you were.”

Enjolras shrugs. “It’s a recent development. We’ve had trouble finding a place to meet.” He feels like he’s out of breath, and he swallows hard to get over a lump in his throat. “I. I’ve missed you.” Grantaire doesn’t respond and it might be that he is unable to. In any case, it still hurts, and Enjolras stares down at his lap. “I did. And I’ve waited.”

“Waited for what?” Grantaire looks up at him, and it occurs to Enjolras that they are different people than they were when they met.

“For you.”

“I can’t imagine someone like you waiting around for someone like me,” Grantaire says, and it’s not angry but rather sad and pained and Enjolras can just barely tell the difference. He shakes his head and refuses to address the comment.

“What about your art? How is—”

“It’s trash,” Grantaire says. “You could not have known what even I did back then. You’re not an art student.” He looks like this is too much and Enjolras reaches, barely, for him, but Grantaire moves and the moment is lost. Grantaire chuckles and it hurts to hear. “I saw you talking and I knew that I should leave.”

“No,” Enjolras says, “I’m glad you’ve stayed.”

“I’ve listened to what you’ve said, and I do not think I agree with your boundless optimism. You think too highly of people.”

Enjolras’s cheeks flared red and he frowned. “I don’t think I understand what you’re saying. Did you stay only to mock me?”

“Never mock you, Enjolras. I do not think I could ever be so cruel to you.” He shakes his head and stares down at himself. “I simply do not think I agree with the way you believe so much of people.”

“You don’t think I should believe in you.”

“You should not. You were wrong to ever wait for me in the first place.”

Enjolras stands and frowns. “And yet, here you are.”

“Here I am, and I suppose I’ll continue to be for the next eternity.”

They remained transfixed in that moment, staring at one another with tired eyes and Enjolras did not want to believe that the man Grantaire had become over the years was one sitting in front of him. Perhaps it was his own fault—in their absence from each other, he had built Grantaire up in his mind and he knew, logically, that the reality could never precisely match up with the idealized fantasy, but even still…. He moved, finally, feeling his heart fall to the bottom of his chest.

“If you do not agree with what it is I’m saying, then maybe you should go.”

“Maybe you’ll convince me otherwise if I stay.”

“If you must.” Enjolras turned, then, from Grantaire, and he left the cafe. Over the years, he had come to know Paris—perhaps not as well as others, but enough that he knew where he was most of the time. He walked away from the cafe and towards the approximate area of his apartment, eyes stinging until he got there. He did not bother with the lamp, preferring instead to wade through the darkness towards his bed and sitting on it. He was there for a few moments before he cried out. It was painful before, not knowing whether or not he would see Grantaire ever again; it was more painful now knowing that he would and what had become of him.


End file.
